For Prim
by Phoenix Refrain
Summary: What went on in Katniss' mind when she agreed to one last games? What made her do it? Did she mean it? When did she decide to kill Coin? Step into her mind by reading between the lines.


**Disclaimer: Everything in italics are direct quotes from the book and are not mine. This short story is meant to fill in the blanks right before Katniss kills Coin. **

**You may have noticed that when Katniss is deciding on the Capitol Games, we aren't really in her mind anymore. We are seeing her walking around and being and doing. We are seeing her outer decision but not what's going on in her mind so that we are all shocked when she says yes to them and kills Coin. This is what I think went on, why saying yes to the Capitol Games was a means to an end. Which why, in the end, there was never any Capitol Game.**

**Phoenix will be updated within the next six hours. Much love, sorry for my abscence.**

"_We're down to Katniss and Haymitch," says Coin._

_Was it like this then? Seventy-five years or so ago? Did a group of people sit around and cast their votes on initiating the Hunger Games? Was there dissent? Did someone make a case for mercy that was beaten down by the calls for the deaths of the districts' children? The scent of Snow's rose curls up into my nose, down into my throat, squeezing it tight with despair. All those people I loved, dead, and we are discussing the next Hunger Games in an attempt to avoid wasting life. Nothing has changed. Nothing will ever change now._

_I weigh my options carefully, think everything through._

I have lived through the Hunger Games first hand and through a Rebellion, and of the two—the Hunger Games were worse. For the most part, they meld together into one horrendous nightmare—but it's the nights in the arena hallucinating with tracker jacker venom, holding Rue as she dies, and Peeta—always Peeta begging me to kill him so I can go home instead of him.

How can I want to send someone into that? How can I allow it, when the Games are what we fought to end? We're just back at square one again. I could have done whatever Snow had said—married Peeta, lived out a life in District 12 where Prim would be safe—where my home would be more than ashes.

Everything I have done means nothing. Prim's death is pointless.

My eyes drift around the table and I think of my talk with Snow. He would have saved his own hide and got out if he'd had that hovercraft—he'd flee what he knew was coming. For him, there was always a point to the Hunger Games. It was to keep us in line and himself safe.

Killing Prim would have only cemented what was going to happen to him.

My mind goes round and round in dizzying circles trying to understand the logic of it. The feeling of confusion weighs heavy on my mind as I put my fingers to my temple absentmindedly.

For a moment, I look at Annie—of the baby she's carrying. It's all she has left of Finnick. Finnick who tied knots with me and untied them. He would have never wanted another Games.

I don't either.

As much as I hate them, I don't wish to make children suffer. I volunteered for Prim, I tried to save her. She would never want me to take revenge this way.

I'm about to answer when, my eyes land on Coin.

But there are some people who deserve to go in the arena—Snow. Coin. She's just as bad as him. Her first major act is to try to bring back the Games, and we all know if they do they won't ever stop.

Is it true though? Did she send Prim out to die? She shouldn't have been there. It's the only reason she'd have been there. I glance down to the white rose in my hand as I remember Boggs words. Coin had always seen me as a threat.

I'd never thought much of myself, but she had. She and Snow had pegged me as someone to watch. I never felt like much of a threat, much of a anything—but now I do. Because I'm sure now that Coin did it—why, I don't know or care. She wanted to punish me, she wanted to kill us all…None of that matters though.

There are some people who deserve the Games and Coin is one of them. It's what cements my decision. If I disagree with her now, she might suspect me—she might realize that I've made my decision.

Forgive me Prim,

_Keeping my eyes on the rose, I say, "I vote yes…for Prim."_

I'll kill Coin for her—for my Prim, for all the children in the districts and the Capitol. No world that exists with Coin in it can ever be safe. I have a purpose again.

"_Haymitch, it's up to you," says Coin._

_A furious Peeta hammers Haymitch with the atrocity he could become party to, but I can feel Haymitch watching me. This is the moment, then. When we find out exactly just how alike we are, and how much he truly understands me._

Our eyes meet and I can see that he knows something is going on. Maybe he knows what it is. Maybe he suspects her, or just hates her. If he knows me as well as I think he does, it won't matter and he'll take my side.

You owe me, Haymitch You were supposed to save Peeta from the arena and not me. You lied.

You owe me, I hope he knows what I'm thinking. He's like me, he has to understand.

His eyes take on this pained expression, "_I'm with the Mockingjay," he says._

He understands. The Mockingjay, not with Katniss, but the Mockingjay. This time I'll embrace it, I'll be the Mockingjay they wanted—fierce, proud, and strong. But not for them, not for Coin or Snow—but for Prim, even Marvel, Glimmer and Cato—for all of the children I killed. Even the ones from the Capitol who don't deserve these games, just like we didn't.

Yes, for Prim.

"_Excellent. That carries the vote," says Coin. "Now we really must take our places for the execution."_

I don't know how she can be so excited at the loss of more children, how she can be happy about this outcome.

_As she passes me, I hold up the glass with the rose. "Can you see that Snow's wearing this? Just over his heart?" _I wonder if he'll understand what it means—that against everything, I do believe him even though I know the horror's he's capable of. She's worse, far worse because she hides it and tries to act as though she's better than him.

_Coin smiles. "Of course. And I'll make sure he knows about the Games."_

Yes, he'll understand, he'll know I'd never agree to another Games.

"_Thank you," I say. _I look at her careful excited smile. She's wanted this power for year_s, _and she can taste it. She doesn't know.

Good.

_People sweep into the room, surround me. The last touch of powder, the instructions from Plutarch as I'm guided to the front doors of the mansion. The City Circle runs over, spills people down the side streets. The others take their places outside. Guards. Officials. Rebel leaders. Victors. I hear the cheers that indicate Coin has appeared on the balcony._

I look up at her, and she smiles at me. In my mind, I figurethe shot. I'll have one chance to get this right, I have to get it per-

_Then Effie taps my shoulder, and I step out into the cold winter sunlight. Walk to my position, accompanied by the deafening roar of the crowd. As directed, I turn so they see me in profile, and wait._

They are excited, they are bloodthirsty because they think he did this to their children, to my Prim. But they don't know. If I had told Peeta, he could have said the words so beautifully—he could have made them understand. No one would doubt him when he called out Coin. But I don't have his gift of tongue, the only gift I have is with a bow and arrow.

I am tired of explaining, tired of people talking around me and about me, as if I'm their puppet—as if I have no voice of my own. That's how I was raised in the Districts, how I struggled through the Games, how I mimicked the lines for the Victory Tour, and how I parroted the words for the propaganda.

But no more. A mockingjay flies by and lands on the roof, and for a moment I'm mesmerized. Maybe it's some sign that what I'm doing is right. It's not noble, it's not honourable or any of those stupid, useless things—but it's right even if it's hard. It's for Prim, it's the last thing I can do for her.

_When they march Snow out the door, the audience goes insane. They secure his hands behind a post, which is unnecessary. He's not going anywhere. There's nowhere to go. This is not the roomy stage before the Training Center but the narrow terrace in front of the president's mansion. No wonder no one bothered to have me practice. He's ten yards away._

Even thou_g_hI want him dead, even though I hate him—I still want to shudder at the sound of their voices clamouring for his death. I'm reminded how some of these same voices not long ago called for mine..

_I feel the bow purring in my hand. Reach back and grasp the arrow. Position it, aim at the rose, but watch his face. He coughs and a bloody dribble runs down his chin. His tongue flicks over his puffy lips. I search his eyes for the slightest sign of anything, fear, remorse, anger. But there's only the same look of amusement that ended our last conversation. It's as if he's speaking the words again. "Oh, my dear Miss Everdeen. I thought we had agreed not to lie to each other."_

He knows, he understands.

_He's right. We did._

I am no one's puppet anym_ore, _no one will pull my strings again. The feel of the pill in the pocket on my shoulder is reassuring, as if it has some weight to it though it doesn't. I have a way out. I will do things, at last, on my own terms.

I conjure up a picture of Prim in my mind, she's looking up at me when I call her name—when I scream for her. Then the bombs go off.

_The point of my arrow shifts upward. I release the string. And President Coin collapses over the side of the balcony and plunges to the ground._

_Dead._

For Prim.


End file.
